A Clean Slate
by MARSHMELLOWTOASTIE
Summary: The war is over and Cybertron has been restored. Life is good for the Autobots. But what about the Decepticons? Well, Ex-Decepticons since it is now illegal for any bot to associate themselves with the disbanded faction. Can a bad reputation, built over millennia be forgotten just because the war is over? Is there anything that will be able to change others' views of them?
1. First Impressions

**-A Clean Slate-**

 **Summary-** The Autobots won the war and Cybertron has been restored. Life is good for the Autobots. But what about the Decepticons? Well, Ex-Decepticons since it is now illegal for any bot to associate themselves with the disbanded faction. Can a bad reputation, built over millennia be forgotten just because the war is over? Is there anything that will be able to change others' views of them?

 **Disclaimer-** I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro. I don't now nor will I ever make any money from this fan fiction.

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 **-First Impressions-**

The femme pulled herself from recharge in a panic and tried to focus her hazy optics on the mech looming over her. She couldn't see an insignia anywhere on his chassis but the blood red optics and gleaming silver claws were a dead give away that he was without a doubt a Decepticon.

That, coupled with the fact that she was restrained to a berth in what looked like some sort of lab did not bode well for her.

"Welcome back to the waking world young femme-bot." His tone was flippantly casual and there was no hint of the hateful, sneering anger she was used to seeing on a Con's face plate. This was so much scarier. He had a relaxed smirk resting over his features. He was messing with her. She was doomed for sure.

"Where am I?"

"You're in my med-bay. You were in pretty poor shape when you were brought to me. I had to scrape a lot of rust out of you but I think I did a pretty decent job fixing you up, if I do say so myself."

With a flick of a switch, her ankles and wrists were unshackled, releasing her. She sat up quickly, bringing her knees up to cover her spark chamber protectively.

"I apologise for the restraints my dear but one can never be too careful. It's better to be safe than sorry I've found."

"Who are you?"

"I am Knockout. Chief Medic aboard the Nemesis." He was the only medic on the ship but that was only a minor detail, hardly worth mentioning.

Knockout! She knew this Con by reputation only. And what a reputation it was.

Stories of torture, mad science and disassembling living subjects who still had their pain receptors activated, among other atrocities, instantly sprang to the forefront of her processor.

Scanning the room for an escape rout, she saw the exit. It was painfully close, only a few steps from where she was sitting. But the 'Cons wouldn't make her escape that easy. The door was most assuredly locked and on the other side would be a maze of corridors to navigate and Decepticon soldiers that she had no hope of overpowering. And what if the warship was in the air? What would she do then?

The 'Con cleared his throat, pulling her attention away from her thoughts and back to him. "So femme, now that I've told you my name, may I know yours?"

"Brightnight," she stammered out, before wondering if she should have used an alias instead of her real designation. Too late to worry about that now.

"A lovely name for an even lovelier femme. So tell me Brightnight, what do you think of my work?" He took a step back, gesturing across her chassis. A proud smirk graced his face plate and he raised an optic brow expectantly.

He was waiting for her to answer but she was almost too afraid to look. What could this 'Con have done to her? Twisted experimentation, missing or Primus forbid, extra body parts, were all things she was mentally preparing herself to see when she hesitantly looked her body over.

She hummed quizzically though and had to check and recheck that what she saw really was reality. Not only was she not disfigured or mutilated in any way but she looked incredible. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to admire her paint job through the dirt that usually covered her chassis. Not that there had been much to admire anyway. Between the missing bits of armour, scraplet damage and the onset of rust, she had had very little paint left. But now, her usually grey body armour shone black as obsidian and was highlighted by brilliant gold paint that had previously been reduced to nothing but flecks of brown

Looking beyond the mere surface, Brightnight also saw that her armour had all been either replaced or extensively repaired. Knowing the extent of the damage to not only her armour but the protoform itself, that could not have been an easy task. And this was no patch job. She had been repaired seamlessly. She ran her fingers tentatively over the metal. Where once was only gaping scraplet wounds and rust, now was as smooth as a newborn sparkling's protoform. Holding her intakes, she looked over her shoulder, wishing but trying to not get her hopes up too high. She couldn't help the gasp as coolant welled up in her optics. Her wings! Not only were they now whole again but they were beautiful.

Knockout smiled, "I take it you approve of my handy work. Of course I couldn't get your finish nearly as illustrious as my own but then again that would be impossible. I'm a medic not a miracle worker. No finish could ever compare to mine."

"Why?"

"Good genetics and a rigorous maintenance and buffing schedule."

"No, I mean why fix me up?"

"Oh yes that, of course. As a medic I am obligated to repair a bot in need. And as a perfectionist I am obligated not to let you leave here without having a proper detailing done on your paint job. I will have to educate you on the importance of proper finish maintenance. My patients are a reflection on me so you will take care of that paint job from now on young femme. Understood?" His voice went unusually stern at that last part.

Brightnight was stunned but nodded all the same. She wasn't going to disagree with him. She had already decided that he was crazy, she didn't want him angry too.

"I've let the boss bot know that you're awake. He'll be here in a moment to speak with you."

"Megatron?" Her voice was merely a petrified squeak as she forced her vocaliser to speak the name of the mech that Neutrals feared most.

"My dear, you have been out of the loop haven't you. " It was a statement, not a question. The amused smirk on the 'Con medic's face did nothing to placate Brightnight's fears. "Haven't you heard? The war is over. The Autobots won."

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Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of this story. I would consider it an honour if any Transformers fans would leave a review with their honest opinion of this story so far.


	2. Knockout Offers Assistance

**Disclaimer-** I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro. I don't now nor will I ever make any money from this fan fiction.

 **A short note-** Please point out any errors you see so that I can fix them. Thank you.

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 **Knockout Offers Assistance**

The automatic doors slid open to reveal one of the oldest mechs Knockout had ever seen. He was one of the new arrivals from the last ship load of refugees. Knockout had seen him in the med-bay before but had never actually met him due to the fact that he always went to Ratchet for any medical care.

"Is there something I can help you with sir?" Knockout put down the tools he had been cleaning and headed over to the much older mech to help him on to a med-berth. He tried not to get too ruffled when his offered servo was slapped away like it was something offensive or by . It had been a long war and not everyone was as quick to forgive as others.

"Where's Ratchet?" There was too much suspicious in the mech's tone for it to be just a simple query.

"He's not here I'm afraid. He's gone back to Earth until we need him next."

"When will that be?"

"When the next ship of refugees comes in probably." The huffish muttering he got in response from the old mech told Knockout that he would obviously need to see a medic before then, "Whatever you need, I am fully qualified to help you."

"I don't think a 'Con poking around my mesh is gonna help anything," the old mech sneered as he exited the room. The med-bay doors sliding closed behind him made it definitively clear that he wasn't coming back.

Knockout would have just looked up the patient's medical records to find out what was wrong with him but he didn't know the mech's name or anything about him for that matter. Today was the first time the mech had ever said a word to him. This would definitely require some investigating. And Knockout knew just where to start said investigation.

He opened up a long range comm. channel to Earth. "Knockout to Ratchet."

The response was almost instantaneous. "This is Ratchet. What do you need Knockout?" The voice of the grumpy medic came over the comm. loud and clear.

"I need to discuss a patient with you."

"Which one?"

"See, that's the problem, I don't know who he is, not even his designation. He's an old mech, one of the oldest I've ever seen actually. He came in here earlier but left almost immediately. He only wants to be treated by you."

There was a brief moment where a thoughtful hum was the only sound heard over the comm. channel before, "I know him. His name is Jetfire. I will get in touch with him and try to convince him to return to the med-bay. I suggest you familiarise yourself with his medical history; that is if you can even find his file in that shamble you call a med-bay."

"Your words cut me to my spark Doctor but you have my thanks all the same. Knockout out." He purposely cut the transmission off before the other mech could respond. He knew how much that ground Ratchet's gears and couldn't help but smirk at the thought of the old ambulance, cussing him out, dying to throw a wrench at him, but being stuck on Earth and unable to do anything about it.

The smirk disappeared though and turned into a frustrated scowl soon after he began his search for Jetfire's file, which wasn't where it should've been or anywhere else he'd searched for that matter. Ratchet may have had a point, Knockout was not the worlds most organised bot. Breakdown had always been in charge of tasks like putting things away where they were supposed to go. Just another thing that he'd taken for granted about his friend and never even noticed until he was left to try to cope on his own.

While searching through one of the many piles of data pads strewn across the floor, Knockout heard the med-bay doors slide open and then shut again in quick succession.

"I wasn't expecting you to be back so soon Jetfire." But when Knockout looked up from his work, he didn't see the old mech he'd been expecting. "Jetfire?"

In fact, he couldn't see anyone. But that didn't mean that there wasn't anyone there. He could sense them. They were shielding themselves though so it was impossible for Knockout to tell who they were and whether they were friendly or not.

"Very funny Mirage. If you're here to get fixed then turn off the cloak and show yourself, otherwise get out and annoy someone else, I'm busy."

But there was no tell tale shimmer of the invisible Autobot moving around and besides, Mirage was too serious a bot to mess around like that. Pranks were more Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's thing. So it couldn't be him.

"Show yourself now or I'm calling security," Knockout warned as his eyes scanned over the room.

A whirring-clicking sound came from behind him on one of the medical berths. Spinning around, Knockout found himself staring into four glowing red optics.

' _A Decepticon?'_ He looked the intruder over puzzledly. There were no Decepticons allowed to wander free around the Nemesis except for some of the Vehicons and this bot was certainly no Vehicon. He was small for a Cybertronian, not much larger than a human actually and was shaped like one of those Earth arachnids Knockout would often see scuttling around in the sands of the desert. ' _What were they called? Scorpions! That was it.'_

"You do not have clearance to be aboard this ship. What are your intentions here?" Knockout crossed his arms over his chest plates in a no-nonsense gesture that had the added benefit of protecting his spark chamber in case of an attack.

More clicking accompanied by the screech of metal pincers rubbing against each other was the scorpion's response.

Knockout couldn't understand what the intruder was saying but he had learned something. This was not a mech. This was a drone. A Decepticon drone that had managed to infiltrate the Nemesis' security and then made it's way to the Ex-Con's med-bay. He could imagine how that would look in the Autobots' optics when they found out.

' _But did the Autobots really need to find out?'_

Was the drone here on his master's orders or was he here for some other reason? Judging by the look of the drone, Knockout deduced that it was designed for infiltration and assassination. Its size, stealth ability and range of weapons made it perfect for the job. But seeing as there were no shouts of alarm or off-lined mechs being dragged into the med-bay and the fact that the drone was making no attempt to conceal itself, Knockout deduced that it wasn't here in the capacity of an assassin.

So that left the only other reasonable explanation, "Do you require medical assistance?"

The metal scorpion chirped hopefully in an affirmative answer and shuffled closer to the medic until it was almost perched on the edge of the berth.

Knockout picked up a medical scanner but when he ran it over the small drone he was unable to pick up any readings through the bug's shields.

"I cannot help you if I cannot find out what is wrong. I need you to lower your shields."

An indecisive and somewhat aggravated whir of internal fans met Knockout's audials. The scorpion's tail was held high in an instinctive, intimidation gesture and ready to strike if necessary. Knockout tried not to flinch as the movement revealed the previously hidden but now very prominent stinger on the end of the drone's tail. On the plus side, at least it had lowered its shields.

Keeping his composure, but remaining vigilant, he studied his now unshielded but in no way unprotected patient.

He had already been given a good look at its stinger and after running a scan he also knew that the two pincers that the drone held up defensively, could transform into either blasters or tunnelling drills. Perfect tools for tunnelling through either dirt or a mech's spark chamber. Knockout had a suspicion that the triple changing appendages had been used for both in the past.

He reached a servo out to the small drone but a rattling screech from its intakes and a dangerous snap of pincers was its response as its shield came flying back up again, cutting off any future chance of scanning it.

"How do you expect me to repair you if I'm not allowed to touch you?" Knockout questioned evenly as he stared his patient down. The drone did nothing but shuffle awkwardly where it stood.

While waiting for it to make a decision, Knockout examined what data he had been able to collect. The drone was running off of the lowest of low grade that appeared to have been distilled from some type of fossil fuel, like those that Earth vehicles ran off of. Its upgrades consisted of makeshift armour attached to its vulnerable protoform. The original armour looked strong enough to withstand any attack a mech could dish out but the newer additions and repairs were made out of a flimsy, alien metal that wouldn't be able to withstand even the lightest of blows and looked susceptible to rust.

This was obviously not a professional job. The best way to describe it was with the human phrase. _'A monkey could do a better job.'_ A monkey or a… a drone.

Knockout's optics light up with realisation. The drone had been doing its own maintenance and upgrades with whatever it was able to get its hands on. Knockout had seen this only once before in one of the worst cases of drone neglect by its master. Drones were called symbiotes for a reason. They could not function properly without a Cybertronian master. The mech or femme would feed, shelter and maintain and repair the drone in return for the drones loyalty. They couldn't look after themselves. This was proof enough for Knockout that the drone had not been ordered here by its Decepticon master. He doubted it had a master at all or if it did he was not an attentive one, otherwise its situation would never have gotten this bad.

The armour upgrades, Knockout could take care of easily enough and were not priorities at the moment. The main problem with this drone was malnutrition. The key to getting it back to full health was giving it the much needed energon to function its self repair systems; which Knockout guessed had shut down a long time ago.

He placed a cube of med-grade energon in front of the drone who initially baulked at the proffered source of nourishment, mistrusting of anything he might be offered.

"It's perfectly safe. See?" Knockout took a swig from the cube before setting it back down.

The drone ran its limited scanners over the cube as its olfactory sensors also scrutinised the offering. Not detecting any traces of drugs or poison, the drone cautiously scooped the cube up in one pincer. It kept a weary optic on Knockout to ensure there would be no backlash from the larger mech or other ill-consequences. When the medic made no move to stop him, the drone took its first tentative sip of the energon.

In the time it took Knockout to blink his optics, his patient had disappeared. The clank of an air vent cover being replaced and the sound of metal legs scuttling away through the ventilation system was the only proof Knockout had that his strange patient had ever been in the room.

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Thank you for reading to the end of this chapter. Did you liked it? Dislike it? Or do you have a comment? Please let me know in a review.

Speaking of reviews. I would like to say a big thank you to Sidekicks-anonymous and Guest for giving me feedback on my first chapter.


	3. Assistance Needed

I hope you enjoy my latest chapter. Please point out any errors you see so that I can fix them. Thank you.

 **A guide for some of the Cybertronian words in this story-**

 **Cybertronian Time-**

Atrosecond= less than a second

Breem= 8.3 minutes

Joor=1 hour

Orn= 1 Cybertronian day.

Cyberweek= 1 week

Quartex-= 1 month

Stellar cycle= Cybertronian year.

Vorn= 83 years

 **Cybertronian Measurements-**

Mechanometre= 1 metre

Klik= 1 Kilometre

 **Disclaimer-** I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro. I don't now nor will I ever make any money from this fan fiction.

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 **Assistance Needed**

"About time you two showed up." Knockout's arms were buried inside the twisted wreck of a Vehicon's chassis as he worked on the damaged energon lines leading to the spark chamber. He operated with urgency while still keeping a calm and professional demeanour. Grace under pressure was a valuable quality in a medic. One not all mechs were born with.

"I had to come from another planet, I don't know what First-aid's excuse is." A Typical Ratchet response. "Update us on the situation."

There were a dozen Vehicons set out on makeshift medical berths placed around the tragically under-equipped med-bay.

"The good news is that no one in here is in danger of _immediately_ off lining. Triage is complete, I've stemmed any serious energon leaks and ensured spark chambers and CPUs are all stable for now. The most critical injuries are over here." Knockout gestured with a nod of the helm to the most urgent cases, one of whom he was currently working on himself. There were three other Vehicons that looked like they needed surgery fast or they may very well shut-down permanently.

"You said in your comm. that this is the result of an explosion in an energon mine. How many more wounded miners are there?" First-aid asked while getting to work on who he thought was the most critical case.

"And that's the bad news. I just got word from the on-site medics and they say we are going to get a lot busier than this before the orn is through. This was the largest mining operation on Cybertron. That mine is or should I say _was_ thousands of kliks deep. There are hundreds of Vehicons still trapped down there, most likely injured or dead. The Rescue Bots are constantly pulling dead and wounded out of the collapse but they already know they will not be able to reach all areas of the mine. The deeper down in the mine they go, the more dangerous and unstable it gets. The lower levels have completely compacted in on themselves. They aren't even going to bother to send rescue teams down that deep because of the risk to themselves and such slim chances of there being any survivors."

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It was Steve's first orn of work at the energon mine located between the newly rebuilt Kaon and Blaster City. He wasn't made for this kind of work. As a Decepticon he used to guard energon deposits, not dig for it. Well at least they weren't being shot at. Anything was preferable to losing another of his comrades to a war they didn't even start .

That had been earlier that orn. His outlook had changed slightly since.

Steve looked around at the other dust covered mechs and femmes who were trapped in this structurally unsound hole in the ground. At least he assumed there were femmes down here too, it was impossible to tell the difference with Vehicons. Although the Autobot's snide tone had been unnecessary in Steve's opinion, the Mine Supervisor was right, _"all Vehicons really do look alike."_

As Steve all but collapsed down onto the floor of the cavern that his small group of survivors had set up as a base of operations, every joint, gear and cog whined at him for recharge. There had been 40 Vehicons in this section of the mine. Of those 40, it was confirmed that eight had been killed in the collapse and 11 were still unaccounted for. His remaining team mates had gathered together and started working on a plan to dig themselves free.

If you are wondering why the Vehicons were trying to dig themselves out when everybot knew that in a situation like this the safest thing to do was to stay put and wait for the Rescue Bots to save you. The answer is simple. No one ever rescues the Vehicons. The whole point of Vehicons was that they were expendable. Cannon fodder, sparkless and disposable were only some of the terms commonly used by higher ranking Decepticons to describe the low ranking Vehicons. If a Vehicon wanted to be saved, he had to save himself and that was exactly what they were going to do.

Steve wanted to drop into recharge right in the middle of the busy cavern. His shift working on the escape tunnel had just ended so he had every right to but there was no way he was going to get an optic shutter of recharge tonight or was it day? It was impossible to tell. There was no such thing as day or night this far underground. Just the darkness. The deep, black, suffocating darkness.

Steve had heard that the newly rebuilt Blaster City was quite beautiful to behold when viewed from the air or out a window of one of its multi-storey sky scrapers. You had a view of most of the city and surrounding landscape, including the popular tourist destination, the Rust Sea. The beauty of the sunsets there rivalled even the famed sunsets over the acid wastes of Stanix. And way off in the distance you could see the entrance to one of the largest energon mines on Cybertron.

Down in that mine though, the view was not nearly as spectacular. All Steve could see was the walls of the mine where his headlights shone. Even if he had x-ray vision and could see through the walls, which he did not, all that he would be able to see was the trillions of tons of metallic rock surrounding him on all sides, pressing in on and weakening the walls of the cavern he was currently seeking refuge in. It was above him, below him and all around him; layer upon layer of Cybertron pressing down on the mech trapped thousands of kliks below the surface.

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Thank you for reading my latest chapter. It makes me so happy to get feedback from you guys. It is really encouraging. So thank you.


	4. Keeping Secrets

**Notes-**

Atrosecond= less than a second

Breem= 8.3 minutes

Joor=1 hour

Orn= 1 Cybertronian day.

Cyberweek= 1 week

Quartex-= 1 month

Stellar cycle= Cybertronian year.

Vorn= 83 years

 **Disclaimer-** I still don't own Transformers. Maybe if I save up enough I'll be able to buy them off of Hasbro. I doubt it. Please enjoy the latest chapter.

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Scorponok needed energon and he knew where to get it. He had been sitting in the ventilation shaft for joors, keeping an optic on Knockout and waiting for him to be alone but the medbay was never empty. It was full of Vehicons and Autobot medics. As soon as a patient was repaired and out the doors, five more were brought in and it showed no sign of letting up. Scorponok had not seen any of the medics take a break ever since he had arrived and began watching from his hidden spot in the ventilation shaft.

Finally the flow of bots coming into the med-bay trickled out until they were no longer run off there feet operating and were just dealing with the now recovering bots that they had to keep an eye on.

"What happened? Have they stopped the search?" First-aid looked around the disorganised but strangely quiet room.

"They're still searching but unless one of you has figured out how to resurrect a dead spark, there's no point them bringing any of the bots they're finding here," Ratchet replied.

Any other mechs may have found his comment completely inappropriate and chastised the old medic for such an insensitive remark. But Knockout and First-aid were both medics themselves and knew that for a lot of mechs in their field of work, a seemingly callous personality and gallow humour was the only way they knew how to cope with situations like this. When the tally of bots they lost far outnumbered the ones they could save.

Absentmindedly, Ratchet started gathering up tools to be cleaned, not thinking about what it was he was cleaning off of them.

Ratchet felt the instrument he was holding lifted from his servo. He gripped tighter to the handle momentarily, out of reflex more than an actual want to keep hold of the instrument. He remembered which Vehicon he had used this on earlier that day. That had been a particularly nasty operation.

A crushed fuel tank was almost always fatal, as was the case today. The memory of the smell of gunky tank fluids and half digested energon as it spilled over his fingers still lingered in his processor.

The nearly overwhelming smell of fresh paint and car polish that Ratchet had come to associate with the Con-medic and any room he habitually occupied such as this one was now tainted with the stench of death that was clinging to every surface of the recently sterilised med-bay. It made him want to purge his tank.

He felt another persistent tug and this time he released his hold. Looking down, he saw silver claws clasped around the soiled instrument he had been holding.

' _What does the 'Con want now? Can't he see I'm busy trying to clean?'_

He decided to give voice to his question. "What do you want Knockout?"

"It's time for you to head to the washracks and then it's straight to recharge for you."

"Can't you see I'm busy Sports Car?"

"Yes and I've also seen you busily repairing bots all day without so much as an energon break. If you keep on like this you'll work yourself to scrap and then who's going to throw wrenches at me whenever I complain about my finish? I can't count on First-aid to do it, he's afraid of me."

"Am not," the offended medic grumbled under his breath. The raised optic ridges he received from both Ratchet and Knockout letting him know that nobody was buying it.

Knockout turned his attention back to the Autobot CMO, "The nurses can handle the cleaning just fine and First-aid and I can keep watch of the patients."

"But I…"

"No buts," First-aid cut in, coming to stand beside his fellow medic to face the Autobot CMO, "Doctors' orders. You need rest."

"You can't order me, I'm your superior officer."

First-aid's confidence deflated slightly but not Knockout's. "Maybe so but we are in my med-bay. And in my med-bay, my word is law." It was a saying Ratchet was familiar with. He'd said it often enough himself. Knockout crossed his arms in front of his chassis, letting the older medic know there was no point in arguing. First-aid did the same, copying his much more confident colleague.

"I guess I don't have much of a choice then do I?" Ratchet huffed, pretending he was annoyed but secretly he was glad to be out of there. He was getting too old for this.

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With the old orange and white mech gone and all the patients asleep, that just left the white and red medic working with Knockout. First-aid, he remembered was his designation. Scorponok had never met this medic before but he wore an Autobot insignia and that was all he needed to know about him. He was going to wait in the vent he'd spent the better part of the orn hiding in until the bot left. When it became apparent that he wasn't, Scorponok decided it would be best to look for a meal somewhere else.

"And just where do you think you're going?" The face of Knockout appeared at the vent just as Scorponok had turned to leave.

He squealed in panic at being caught off guard. Acting purely on instinct, his canons armed and his stinger raised, ready to strike.

"Relax, I'm not going to hurt you. I've known you were there since this morning. What can I do for you?"

Scorponok knew that Knockout couldn't understand him, so it was no surprise to the drone when the piercing screeches of metal and odd whiring sounds he used to communicate were misinterpreted by the medic. Having been long enough without a master to interpret for him, Scorponok knew he would have to be patient to be able to communicate with the mech. Staying safely inside the ventilation shaft, he held still compliantly as Knockout ran his scanner over the drone.

Knockout _tsked_ disappointedly at the readings. "Well your armour is as horrendous as ever and I notice you have started to develop a rust infection in your hind leg since your last visit. If you don't let me take care of that the entire limb could seize up and eventually rust off. But I'm guessing the reason you're here is not for repairs," Knockout surmised as he pulled a cube of med-grade out of subspace and set it down in front of the drone.

The excited whir as the drone snaffled the cube up and disappeared back into the ventilation systems again let Knockout know that he had been right on the money with his guess as to why the drone had returned.

"What are you feeding a stray drone for?"

First-aid! Knockout had forgotten that he was here still.

"Have you reported it to Prowl or Ultra Magnus?"

"No." Knockout turned his attention to a data pad, any data pad, hoping to avoid this conversation.

"Are you insane? You can't just be letting a Decepticon drone sneak through the ventilation ducts of the Nemesis!"

It looked like he wasn't going to be able to avoid this. "Why not? It just comes for food and then leaves. What harm could it possibly cause?"

"What harm could it…?" First-aid spluttered out, his circuits coming close to frying from the anger he was trying to control. "Maybe you haven't noticed but it still wears the Decepticon insignia."

Knockout had had enough. He slammed the data pad down and stood to face his annoying co-worker. "As I would be right now had it not been forcibly removed by our good doctor."

"You mean to tell me that even though the war is over you would still want to wear that insignia?" What was that look on his face-plates? Disgust? Betrayal? It didn't matter. It wasn't like Knockout cared what this insignificant bot thought of him.

"Why not? The Autobots still wear theirs."

"Those mechs are heroes, not Decepticon terrorists. They were fighting for what was right. You must know that otherwise why would you have left the Cons?"

"To quote one of the fleshies you Autobots are so fond of, 'War does not decide who is right, only who is left,' and I could tell that by the end of the war there weren't going to be any Decepticons left, so I switched over to the winning team."

"So you still consider yourself a Decepticon? If the war were to start up again you would consider all of us your enemy? You still believe everything Megatron says?"

"I wouldn't have joined him in the first place if I didn't."

"But he's crazy, he's a killer. It's not like he treated his followers well at all either."

That last remark did it. Any shred of patience Knockout had been holding onto was gone. "Look around you 'Bot and tell me who you see in here." Knockout gestured widely with both arms at the med-bay full of injured Decepticons, mainly Vehicons. "How many Autobots do we have in this med-bay right now? How many Autobots died in that energon mine? NONE! And do you know why? Because Autobots don't risk other Autobots' lives by sending them down into unstable energon mines. That's what Decepticons are for. So before you start accusing Megatron of mistreating Decepticons, you might want to take a look at what your own faction is doing to them first."

First-aid was instantly ready to fire back with an indignant remark but faltered when the Ex-Con's words really sunk in to his processor. He was struck dumb, his mouth plate hanging half open as the metaphorical and literal cogs in his processor whirred uselessly. Never one to keep digging when already in a hole, First-aid snapped his mouth plate shut.

"I'm sorry Knockout. And don't worry, I wont tell any body about your drone."

"Thank you First-aid. You know, it has been surprisingly bearable working with you. And I don't give out praise like that to just anyone."

"Thank you Knockout… I think. You're not so bad yourself."

"So now that we're fr… uh, associates, I can be honest with you right? 'Cause there's something I've been needing to get off my chest plate for a while now…"

"Of course. What is it?" First-aid encouraged.

"It's hard for me to say because I find it quite disturbing."

"It'll be all right Knockout. You can tell me anything."

"Okay, here goes…" Knockout vented deeply, shutting off his optics momentarily as he prepared himself to say what he needed to. "Your finish is splotchy. You desperately need someone to teach you basic polishing techniques."

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Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Have a great day :)


	5. Rescue Bots and Scavengers

**Disclaimer-** Guess what. I found a fortune of hidden treasure and decided to use it to buy Transformers so I don't need to write disclaimers any more. In my dreams.

I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro. I don't now nor will I ever make any money from this fan fiction.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **Rescue Bots and Scavengers**

"The only thing worse than an air rescue is an underground rescue. That cave in nearly smashed my tail rotor." Blades sat on a berth in the makeshift medical tent, worrying over his rotor while the rest of the rescue team were being checked over by site medics after their close shave in the mine.

"I've discovered something," Boulder announced, looking up from the data-pad that he'd been frowning at in concentration.

"Is it good news or bad news? 'Cause I could really use some good news right now." Heatwave joined the conversation from over where a nurse worked on his damaged shoulder.

"It's… news. I've figured out why the tunnels are so unstable."

That information definitely interested the leader and he urged his team mate to continue.

"It's the emergency structure supports."

"Of course, the emergency structure supports. Why didn't I think of that?" Chase spoke up suddenly to chastise himself for missing the obvious.

"Umm, you guys lost me at 'emergency,'" Blades admitted.

These types of explanations were a job best left to Boulder. "Emergency structure supports are beams installed in the walls and ceiling of underground tunnels. They do nothing most of the time but in the rare event of a collapse they would be able to bear the load of the rubble on top of them and hold together the tunnels beneath."

"So what's wrong with them?" Heatwave queried.

"From what I can tell, there's nothing wrong with them."

"Then why did this disaster happen?"

"The supports are fine, they just haven't been installed."

"What? That can't be right. We've all seen the inspection reports," Heatwave reminded.

"Well it looks like someone's been cutting corners and lied on the report."

"You mean to tell me that hundreds of mechs have died and we've gone from being a rescue team to a body retrieval crew, all because because some mech wanted to save a bit of time and credits?"Heatwave snarled, his denta grinding together furiously.

"It does appear that way."

"Despicable," Chase shook his head in disbelief, "and a purposeful violation of safety regulations. I will not rest until the perpetrator is caught and has been prosecuted to the full extent of the law."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Finished draining the vehicle of its energon, coolant and other essential resources, the scorpion like metal beast got to work using its pincers to pull apart the rest of the armoured drilling machine as if he were merely tearing cardboard. He sorted his scavenged findings and secured any useful objects to his back to bring them with him when he returned home.

Pincers transformed into drills and he burrowed through the scorching top layer of desert sand, down into the cooler layers beneath. Up on the surface, the entrance to the tunnel was already being filled back in by the sweeping wind and sand of the desert. The wilderness he inhabited was in a constant state of motion; forever changing shape until any evidence of the small Decepticon became unrecognisable. The ongoing transformation of the landscape allowed its subterranean inhabitant to keep hidden from prying optics.

The drills spun furiously, forcing sand out of the way of the Cybertronian insect, only slowing down when he broke through to a familiar, well traversed tunnel below. Transforming his front most extremities back into pincers, the metal beast dropped down onto the compacted dirt beneath him and scuttled into the dark labyrinth lurking beneath the surface.

Travelling through tunnel after empty tunnel, each one identical to the last, the creature finally came to a seemingly dead end, strangely made up of a mound of loose sand instead of the hardened earth the rest of the walls were comprised of. Sturdy pincers swept the mound of sand out of the way to reveal a door with a complicated locking mechanism, scavenged from the wreck of a battleship that had been downed many years earlier.

As the only being alive who knew the access code, the scorpion gained access with little trouble.

He stood in the entrance of his den. Along the walls were stacks of seemingly purposeless scrap metal, piled so high and deep that nothing could be reached without first dismantling the entire tower of metal.

While adding his latest finds onto one of the smaller piles, the Cybertronian scanned the den to ensure no intruders had been inside his home and that everything was as it had been when he'd left it earlier that orn. He was assured that his nest had not been compromised.

How he could tell that from the mess of salvaged metal that was stacked around the room without any apparent order would be beyond most beings. But not him. He could tell. To him, this hodge podge of metal and plastic was organised in meticulously, methodical madness; even if anyone else would say it looked like the house of a robotic hoarder.

' _Hoarding- Definition- A disorder characterised by a persistent difficulty discarding or parting with possessions because of a perceived need to save them.'_

Scorponok knew that the term did not apply to him because unlike those processor damaged mechs, he actually would need the supplies he was safely storing away.

With a series of chirps and clicks, Scorponok called to the room's other residents. After hearing their guardian's voice, two figures scuttled out from their hiding place underneath a sheet of corrugated metal. At a speed humans would have a hard time tracking with their organic optics, the two scorplings scampered up Scorponok's legs, scuttling around their parent's body with the energy and excitement that only a sparkling possessed. Soon they started nuzzling around under the larger mech's body, looking for the feeding lines that would provide them with the life giving energon their parent always supplied them with without fail.

Running a scan over his young, Scorponok could see that the two scorplings clinging to his underside were close to overheating from excitement at seeing their guardian and the prospect of a meal that came with it.

Whirring his internal fans and blowing cool air over his sparklings' little bodies, they sat up and took notice, moving closer to the vents situated along his neck. The two scorplings were almost perfect replicas of their guardian except for being a fraction of the size. They were roughly the size of a small Earth dog, perfect to be able to settle into the crook between the larger Scorpion's shoulder and neck. They calmed slowly as the refrigerated air blew over them. Sucking it into their own air intakes further aided the rambunctious sparklings' systems in the struggle to cool their internals down to an acceptable temperature.

Satisfied that his two stronger sparklings were alright, Scorponok made his way over to the corner of his den that he had been dreading visiting since he left to look for supplies.

As he slowly crawled towards the overturned container, the two children climbed down from his shoulders and hung back around their guardian's legs, cautiously peering around the limbs to see what would happen; almost too nervous to look but too curious and concerned not to.

Scorponok gently picked up the container and tilted it so that its contents slid out onto the dirt floor. The two scorplings edged forward cautiously, sensors reaching out to the smaller creature who had curled itself into a pathetic ball of metallic legs and pincers.

' _He's not going to last much longer,'_ Scorponok thought to himself dolefully as he took in the ever weakening condition of his smallest scorpling. ' _The weak are to be destroyed. Only the strong deserve to live.'_ That was what he had been taught. 'T _here is no place amongst the Decepticons for the weak.'_ But the Decepticons weren't here. It was just him and his scorplings.

As Scorponok wrapped his tail protectively around his small family, he ensured that all three of his children suckled the best energon his body could produce from the crude fuels he was forced to scavenge.

As the gorged sparklings slipped into peaceful recharge, Scorponok used his holographic imager to project one of his favourite memories up onto the wall of their den. The memory was of Blackout sitting in his favourite chair, cradling a cube of high-grade in one servo while the other rested on the helm of a much younger Scorponok, still a scorpling himself, dozing peacefully on his master's lap.

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Sorry for the long wait for this chapter guys. Thank you so much for reading. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter so if someone could give me some honest criticism/advice and tell me what they think, I would appreciate it a lot.

Thanks :)

 **Note-**

Definition of horder from- _diseases-conditions/hoarding-disorder/home/ovc-20317407_ 1998-2017 Mayo Foundation for Medical Education and Research (MFMER).


	6. An Unhappy Dirge

**Disclaimer-** I still don't own Transformers. If this changes I'll make sure you guys are the first people I tell. But for now, they belong to Hasbro. I don't make any money from this fan fiction.

 **An Unhappy Dirge**

Dirge collapsed heavily down onto his berth with a sigh. Pulling his knees up to his chest plate he tried to calm his frazzled nerves by in-taking calming breaths through his vents. You never understood just how stressful a situation was until it was over and you were safe again.

He had spent millennia of violent battle hoping for this moment, although he'd never dreamed it could ever actually happen. Even if it had been the Decepticons who'd won, he'd known he wouldn't have been able to enjoy the quiet life he'd had before the war.

When it became apparent that they were not going to win, Dirge had a decision to make. Would he surrender? Flee? Or would he do the only honourable thing and go out in a blaze of glory, die a hero for the Decepticon cause?

It wasn't really a question, he knew what decision he would make. He wasn't proud of the choice but it had kept him alive.

Predictability, the Autobots eventually found him and hauled his chassis into court in front of a jury consisting entirely of Autobots.

' _This was going to be a fair trial.'_

As it turned out, he didn't have much to worry about at all. Given his habit of fleeing most fights before they were over, Dirge had never had the opportunity to take any prisoners, destroy any civilian settlements, torture any Autobots or pretty much anything that a Decepticon was expected to do. As far as Decepticon warriors and especially Seekers went, he was a disgrace. According to the Autobots that were deciding his fate, he was one of the very few honourable Decepticons.

' _Autobots sure had a weird idea of honour.'_

Not that Dirge was going to complain. Not only had he only served minimal jail time but the Autobots had also helped him find employment and gotten him housing in the newly rebuilt Blaster City.

Today had been Dirge's first orn of work at the energon processing plant that would supply the growing city of Kaon. It was menial and repetitive work and the heat given off by the energon processors was so unbearable at times it made him feel faint. As Dirge looked around at the other mechs, covered in grime while working in this hot and dirty sweatbox, he could tell you almost all of their names before he was even introduced to them, mostly because they were pretty much all fellow Decepticons… well Ex-Decepticons now that it was illegal to associated oneself with the disbanded faction.

Although the Autobot's snide tone had been unnecessary, his manager was right, _"all Decepticons really did know each other."_

Dirge had heard that the mech had a twin who supervised one of the nearby energon mines and wondered if he was anything like his brother.

While other Decepticons grumbled about their lot in life and reminisced on the glory days during the war when they were powerful and respected, Dirge just wanted to stay out of it all. Anything was preferable to losing anyone else he loved and deep down he was sure that others felt the same too.

Although there were a few Ex-Decepticons in politics in positions of power, their numbers were negligible and were widely regarded as simply token Decepticons, placed in their positions more for diversity and political correctness than anything else. They didn't have the numbers needed to have any real effect on decision making.

Dirge had a job that was helping rebuild Cybertron, decent living quarters, enough energon that he need never go hungry and relative peace around him. It was all that he had been praying for and Primus had dropped it in his lap in the form of Autobot rule. So why couldn't he be happy? Or at least satisfied? What was missing?

He was about to drop into recharge when an alert popped up in his vision telling him to refuel. Going over to his supply of energon, he scanned the cubes in front of him. On reflex he reached for a cube of high grade and had to forcibly remind himself that getting intoxicated was not going to change his circumstances at all and he would just feel worse when he came out of recharge next orn. His servo hesitated a moment longer over the cube that was glowing an enticing pink before taking instead a cube of regular grade energon. He sat down to think.

Looking out the window of his apartment, Dirge had a view of most of the city and most importantly the sky. Just the sight of it made his spark quicken and his wings itch to be put to use. He hadn't been flying in quite some time. Perhaps that was what was wrong with him. Draining his cube, he decided to go for a fly around the city.

It was hard not to notice the way the other Cybertronians peered up cautiously or even _"discreetly"_ hid for cover as the Ex-Decepticon flew overhead. Dirge was after all designed for the very purpose of instilling fear in all who crossed him. This had given him a thrill during battle but as a civilian who was trying to make a new start for himself and keep off of the Autotroopers' radar, it was not only irritating but it also hurt that he was so easily vilified by mechs who knew nothing about him apart from that he had at one point been a Decepticon.

It would be nice to be around someone who would just accept him for who he was now and not judge him based on his past. He was a different person during the war. Everyone had been.

That was not to say that he was ashamed of his past. Far from it. He had worn his Decepticon insignia proudly right up until that Autobot medic had forcibly removed it from his armour. After all, the Decepticons had been fighting for the restoration of their home, for peace. He may have done some less than moral things in order to achieve that peace but the ends would always justify the means. There is nothing he wouldn't do for Cybertron. And right now that meant not blasting these Dust Kissers to scrap, no matter how justifiable his actions may seem.

He cut his flight short, afraid that he would get arrested if anyone thought he was purposely trying to intimidate mechs. Landing in amongst the crowd of Ground Pounders, he trudged along the street, jostling mechs out of his way as he headed back to his apartment.

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Thanks for reading guys.

So how did I do writing Dirge? I would really appreciate some honest feedback please so that I know where I can improve.


	7. Mechs and Machines

**Disclaimer-** I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro. I don't make any money from this fan fiction.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **Mechs and Machines**

On his way to the mess hall, Ratchet found himself walking not far behind Knockout. He noticed, with no small amount of resentment, that the mech was scratch free and polished to a high sheen like always. Ratchet looked down at his own paint job; worn down to the metal in places and covered in stains and scratches from operating on dying Vehicons the entire previous orn.

When they had both left the med-bay late the night before, Knockout had looked as bad as Ratchet. After his shift the sports car must have headed straight back to his berthroom and then worked all night repainting, buffing and polishing his finish for it to look that good. When did the 'Con make time for recharge? The 'Con medic looked irritatingly alert this morning for somebot who couldn't have gotten more than an optic shutter of recharge the night before.

The number of patients that they were expecting this shift was considerably lower than previous orns. Most would think this was a good thing but with nearly a quarter of the miners still unaccounted for it was not a promising sign.

Grabbing his energon from the dispenser, Ratchet turned and looked around the mess hall for a place to sit. He noticed, unsurprisingly, that there were no bots around the table Knockout had seated himself at. Ratchet settled his tired frame heavily into a chair by the other medic. If anyone, including Knockout thought it was strange that the Autobot CMO was choosing to sit with the Ex-Con that he barely tolerated, they didn't say anything.

They both sipped their energon in silence, pretending not to notice the other's presence until Ratchet let out a sigh like sound from his vents and placed his cube down on the table.

"How are you like this?"

"Like what?" The other medic placed his own cube down, interested in where this question was leading.

"How do you always look so bright? How aren't you completely worn out? And don't say youth because I know you're not that young. I recognise cosmetic surgery when I see it."

A range of emotions flickered over the 'Con medics face plates but the most prominent one was clearly indignation. "First of all; I am offended that you would imply that I would use cosmetic enhancements. Besides, on me they wouldn't work. It is impossible to enhance perfection. And in regards to your question, I can't say that I know what you're talking about."

"Having so many Ex-Cons come through the med bay. Knowing it's because of Autobots not treating them right that they're there," Ratchet elaborated, "These were your comrades. It can't be easy to see this happening. Primus knows this is wearing me down worse than any battle ever did."

"As you so frequently enjoy pointing out Doctor, I was a Decepticon medic. Every orn, I had teams of Decepticons in my med bay who'd been scrapped by Autobots. This is nothing new nor unusual to me. If something like this got me as fritzed as it is you, I would have off-lined from either pump or processor failure vorns ago."

"But how?" None of these answers were satisfying the older mech.

"Simple. In an emergency, we have been doing completely different jobs," Knockout answered cryptically.

"What are you talking about? We've been working on the exact same patients together."

"I wasn't finished Doctor. Let me ask you, do you get emotional like this when you fix the ground bridge or a computer?"

"No."

"And why is that?"

"They're just machines."

"Exactly. And the Cybertronian body is nothing more than a machine. A very complex one, but a machine none the less. One that needs to be repaired just like all the other machines we use every day." Knockout casually sipped at his energon as he answered in a tone that was as emotionally detached and sparkless as the words themselves.

"But mechs aren't machines. They're living people with sparks that I am responsible for."

"And that mindset Good Doctor is the answer to your own question. There is a difference between us. We are both doing the exact same job, yet you are an astrosecond away from off lining from stress and lack of recharge, looking as beat up as a Wrecker on a battlefield and I am sitting back, enjoying my energon and looking as brilliant as ever. The reason? Our mindset. In the med bay, you are saving lives, I am fixing machines."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Thanks for reading my latest chapter:) Any honest feedback is really appreciated.


	8. Rusty Piece of Scrap

**Disclaimer-** I didn't create Transformers. I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro. I don't make any money from this fan fiction.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 **Rusty Piece of Scrap**

He was trying to be stealthy but the rust infection in his back leg was making his gears grind together before they would lock up with a screech and then free so suddenly that he could not stop his pede from banging down onto the metal of the ducting he was trying to sneak through. He would freeze up after each incident, listening to the echo of the bang travel through the shaft and around the entire Autobot controlled ship.

He was sure one of the Autobots would hear it, he was surprised they hadn't yet. Then they would find him and then... Well he didn't know what would happen to him after that but his master had shared stories with him about Autobots and what they did to Decepticon prisoners, especially ones they considered sparkless drones. His entire armour rattled against his body, loosening bits of rust as he shook from fear at recalling his master's warnings. He was no where near the med-bay yet and he was seriously starting to doubt whether he would make it there alive but he was that desperate for energon, he was willing to risk it.

He and his scorplings hadn't been able to properly refuel since his last visit to Knockout. Unless you counted last cyber-week when he had been searching around some-bots backyard and caught that helio-hamster or "Fluffy," as the tag hanging off its collar had read. It was convenient that the bots had already caged it for him. After piercing through its pitifully thin armour and into its main energon line with his barbed tail he'd drained the creature of the small amount of energon its body contained then tossed the sparkless metal husk back into the cage.

That pitiful amount of energon was not enough to keep himself going let alone his family. He was so hungry. There were just no safe, reliable sources of energon around any more. The small, low security energon mines that he used to be able to scavenge off of unnoticed were now crawling with Autobots. In fact, every mine he had scouted out had been lately.

They weren't taking the energon, they were just doing a lot of inspecting and there were new building projects going on in some of the mine shafts. They had even found and filled in nearly all of the secret entrance tunnels that he had dug for easy access to the uncovered energon deposits. Scorponok wasn't sure what the Autobots were doing or why. All he knew was that if it kept up, he and every other scavenger on Cybertron was soon going to starve.

So he kept going, more determined than ever to reach the red Decepticon medic. Even when his olfactory sensors picked up the tantalising scent of energon coming from the Autobots' mess-hall, he did not stop. Well not voluntarily any way.

It became apparent that someone had heard him when in under an astro-second, the vent was torn away from the ventilation shaft and a giant servo appeared, determined to capture him. An astro-second would usually be more than enough time for him to make his escape but just as he turned to run, he heard the last sound he wanted to at that moment. The horrible screech of his leg joint seizing up. But this time the gears did not free themselves up with the usual clang he was getting used to. No, instead, the tooth of the rust damaged gears completely snapped off and the smaller gears attatched to them spun off in a chain reaction and went pinging around the ventilation shaft.

In the time it took the metal scorpion to recover from the shock of realising that the useless piece of metal now lying on the ground next to him was actually his leg, the giant servo had already grabbed him by his tail and was dragging him out into the open through the air vent.

Scorponok did not have enough energon to even power his blasters up let alone fire them. And clawing, drilling and all of his other defenses were useless against the heavy armour plating of the formidable mech holding him captive.

The hum of a weapon charging up met the small drones audials right before the blue glow of a canon muzzle was thrust into his face. Well it was aimed at his face but the cannon was so large that if fired it would tear his entire body apart.

"look what we 'av 'ere. a Decepti-scum spy," sneered the mech as Scorponok felt himself being raised to the Autobot's optic level. Scorponok began to shiver uncontrollably. He recognised this mech now. The impregnable, red armour, the oversized weapons and that voice… that cruel, terrible voice. He had been captured by Ironhide, the Autobot's weapons specialist. As ruthless as any Decepticon on and off the battlefield. He knew that he would be shown no mercy by this 'Bot.

The cannon hummed louder, preparing to fire, sounding like a roar to the sensitive audials of the petrified drone. It was probably better for him to go this way. If he was killed by this mech now then at least he wouldn't have to witness what the Auto-bots did to his lifeless chassis afterwards

"Ironhide wait." The drone heard a familiar voice call out. Knockout had elbowed his way through the gathered crowd, followed by the older, orange and white medic to stand before the much larger red mech.

"If I were you, I'd be keepin' quiet and stayin' outa my line of sight Decepti-creep," Ironhide sneered at the Decepticon turned Neutral with a look of hatred and contempt. "Were it not for Magnus, I'd already have your helm as the worlds ugliest hood ornament."

"That's enough Ironhide," the commanding voice of Ratchet cut in before the situation escalated any further. "I have already contacted Prowl and a team is on their way here to arrest the intruder."

"I can save them the trip."

A ripple of anticipation ran through the crowd; a little too eager to see a Decepticon spy's energon spilled, even if it was just a drone.

"No-bot is getting shot today. I'm sorry to any of you who were hoping for otherwise. Now all of you go back to what you were doing. If you don't, then rest assured I will remember that the next time you show up in the med-bay for your rust scraping."

That was a threat to be taken seriously. Everyone except for Knockout, Ratchet, Ironhide and the prisoner in his fist, quickly remembered that they had somewhere else they needed to be.

"Now Knockout." Ratchet turned to the other medic in the room. "What were you going to say?"

"I was umm…" Knockout rung his clawed servos together nervously.

The scorpion shaped drone twisted around to look at him and chirped pleadingly to his one possible defender.

"Mute it!" Scorponok was shaken violently by the terrible mech holding him in a crushing grip.

A squeal like that of a terrified sparkling escaped the drone.

"That is unnecessary Ironhide. It is not trying to attack or escape." Ratchet frowned down on him with a look that made even the weapons specialist squirm like a ground crawler. "You were saying Knockout?" Ratchet continued after he was satisfied that his hot tempered friend was going to behave.

"It isn't a spy. It's just here looking for food."

"And you know this how?" Ironhide sneered accusingly.

"It's come to my med-bay before," he reluctantly admitted the truth only because there was no way he would be able to plausibly deny it since First-aid had already seen him feeding the drone.

As expected, Ironhide was about to make a comment about traitorous 'Cons but was cut off by Ratchet with a more unexpected outburst.

"And you left him in that state?" the cry of outrage was emphasised by gesturing to the drones missing leg and rust infected body, both undoubtedly caused by the chop-shop upgrades marring its protoform. He was unable to keep the worry and anger out of his voice as his medical programming overrode everything else he was supposed to be thinking at that moment and began running full medical scans automatically.

"It's not my fault. It wouldn't let me get close enough to get any repairs done. It just took the cube and ran each time. And can you blame it if this is the welcome party you 'Bots send out?" He gestured emphatically to the unnecessarily large canon aimed at the quaking drone.

"Sorry to interrupt this fascinating conversation," Ironhide spoke in a tone that showed he couldn't care less that he was interrupting them, "but a better question we could be asking is, why didn't you report the little parasite as soon as you saw it?"

Knockout was starting to regret the fact that he hadn't.

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Thank you for reading.

You know what I'm gonna ask. Comments and opinions please. Pretty please.

Have a great day guys :)


	9. Symbiosis

**Disclaimer-** I didn't create Transformers. I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro. I don't make any money from this fan fiction.

 **Symbiosis**

Scorponok had only ever been symbiote bonded to one mech. His master was Blackout and would only ever be Blackout. He had been a good master but there were so many bad ones out there too. And now, without Blackout's physical protection or the protection provided by the bond, Scorponok could end up at the mercy of any of them.

He knew about the Autobots and how they viewed drones as lower than animals and even machines. They didn't believe that drones had real sparks so they had no problems ripping them still beating out of a drone's chassis.

He'd heard tales of drones being kept in cages like animals, experimented on by Autobot scientists in such cruel and unusual ways that even the Decepticon warriors recounting the events couldn't make themselves speak of them out loud; such were the atrocities they had seen. No drones ever returned from Autobot captivity alive to personally speak of what they had endured.

Physical torture he could handle, even if it off-lined him. He was a Decepticon, he was built tough. What he wasn't so sure he could handle was someone trying to replace Blackout. He and Blackout, they shared everything and knew everything about each other. When in battle, they were both on the same page all the time and knew exactly what the other was planning and doing. They could protect each other and coordinate attacks with deadly precision. If either one of them was injured, no matter how much they may have tried to hide it, the other would know and take care of him.

If anyone tried to mess with the little drone, Blackout could instantly tell through the bond they shared and come to his drone's aid. And if anyone tried to mess with the little drone's master, well, Scorponok never give them a chance to make the same mistake twice. It was the perfect partnership. It was Symbiosis the way it was supposed to be.

When Blackout died though, their bond had been severed, leaving one end of the bond open. But that didn't mean that the bond was now open to just any-bot. In fact, it wasn't open to any-bot at all if Scorponok had any say in it. Unfortunately for a drone, they usually didn't. Forcing a symbiote bond on a drone was more invasive and psychologically scaring for it than a cortical psychic patch rooting around inside your processor. Unfortunately, it was also the quickest, easiest and most common way of gaining control of a drone.

The master invaded, violated and occupied the inner most person that was the drone. Memories, intentions, hopes, fears, secrets, freedom- even their very spark was no longer their own any more. No longer an individual; the drone was objectified as nothing more than an extension of its master, no different to the cannon on his arm that he could control at will.

If any-bot were to force their way into Scorponok's bond then they would have full access to all of his secrets, including the location of his nest and scorplings.

And here, locked inside the enemy's brig, that thought terrified Scorponok.

-.-.-

Knockout was seriously starting to regret speaking up back in the mess-hall. The next vermin that showed up on board the nemesis, he was just going to let Ironhide shoot.

He was back in the same interrogation room as stellar cycles ago, after Prime's team had won the war for the Autobots. Except this time, instead of the Prime, he was now being interrogated by Ultra Magnus, Ironhide and Prowl. He never thought he'd say this but he really wished Optimus was here. He even missed the big green Wrecker and the yellow scout who could only speak with his vocal modulator. He did not miss the angry femme that was always promising to off-line him though.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Thank you for reading the latest chapter. You're the best.

Have an awesome day :)


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